


Nightcall

by JerichoholicAnonymous



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Kayfabe Compliant, Lots of Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:32:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4676972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JerichoholicAnonymous/pseuds/JerichoholicAnonymous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having just won the WWE World Heavyweight Championship at WrestleMania 31, Seth Rollins is on top of the world, his confidence at an all time high. Everything seems to be going his way. That is, until a late night call from Dean Ambrose changes that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yet an other Ambrollins fic from me. Huge thanks for the feedback I got on my last two stories. I truly, truly appreciate it. I hope you like this story as well! The title of it was inspired by the beautiful song from London Grammar. Depending on how well it goes over, I may add a chapter or two. That's my initial intention, but we'll see how it goes. I hope you enjoy reading this!

Life couldn't be sweeter for Seth Rollins. He was a few short nights removed from the biggest night of his life where he'd won the one piece of gold he'd dedicated his whole life to, the WWE World Heavyweight Championship. It was more than just a title to Seth. It was validation. It was a symbol that all of his hard work, sacrifices, nights slept in cars, injuries and setbacks paid off. His neck surgery had meant something. It meant that he'd proven to the entire world what he'd known along, what he'd known for years. He was the best thing this company had to offer. He'd outworked everyone,  _everyone_ , to get to where he is. He had to bleed his way into honing his craft and outshine them all. He'd trained relentlessly to be a smooth sailing machine inside that ring. He made and broke alliances to get ahead. He manipulated people like a puppeteer to get his way. He was cold and calculated and heartless but it worked. His ambitions had become a reality. Through it all, he'd left it all on the line. He deserved his. He  _deserved_  this, and no one could've told him otherwise. His job was his life, in every possible way.

His choices came with solitude. He had no friends backstage. He was looked at with repulsion from fans and coworkers alike. He'd lost their respect for who he was as a person. The few people who tried getting closer to him wanted to reap benefits from the Authority. The calls and texts he received were strictly business. He had no love life. His hotel rooms were just a little bit colder. No one ever warmed his beds. No one had in almost a year. The only affection he'd known had come from his family and dog. He was alone. But that was alright. He worked better alone anyway. He had no problem being by himself. He'd know no distraction that way. No impulsions would overcome him and derail him from his aspirations. His sole focus would be on his career, on the legacy he was leaving behind. He was the man now. He held the most prestigious championship in all of wrestling. He had a target on his back. His peers hustled to face  _him_. The spotlight was on  _him_. All eyes were on  _him_. It was all about _him_. He was the one. And it felt good, so damn good.

He wasn't a robot, though. He wasn't senseless, contrary to popular belief. He was a man, a man with needs. He too needed to feel. His emotions weren't frozen in cold hard stone, never to be tapped into again. They couldn't be. He was human. His form of reprieve was found in somber, low-key bars. He was a mere shadow there, blending in the masses, completely incognito in the night. His physique and good looks were more than enough to attract beautiful, lonely girls to him, like moths to a flame. He would smell the desperation on their skin as he traced it with his mouth. Their loud screams in the dark sent him deeper into a world far from reality. As he pounded hard in them, eyes tightly shut, he would think of a time where he'd known the warmth that'd become so very foreign to him. He would think of a time he would be deep inside tightness that constricted his chest and lungs to the brim. He would think of a time where the press of lips against his skin made him burn in flames. He would lose himself in a time where the sheer gaze into blazing blue eyes stole his breath more than the movement of their bodies against each other. He wouldn't see the girl beneath him. He would see  _him_  instead.

If they'd gone back to his place, they would leave before dawn was upon them, no matter how late it was. Seth would make sure of that. No one would share his bed. No one would spend the night with him. It wasn't about them. It was impersonal from the start, and it would be impersonal when it was all said and done. He considered his time with those girls as an arrangement that benefited them both, each in their own individual way. Business as usual.

As rewarding as it was, being the company's top champion was far from easy. WrestleMania week was a marathon in and of itself. But after his victory on Sunday night, his schedule had become even more hectic, which Seth didn't think was possible. In between wrestling several matches, countless media appearances, successive flights and fleeing from Brock Lesnar, he was worn out. Exhaustion had seeped into his every bone. He was overjoyed to finally be able to get some rest soon. The Smackdown tapings had officially come and gone, which meant the talent were flying out home the next day. He was in dire need to get some calm and serenity after the whirlwind his life had become. His muscles were aching as he dragged his bags through the lobby and up to his room. The grey hallways had long become deserted. Seth was the last to leave the arena, as had been the case for months. He slid his keycard and entered his room, neatly setting his luggage in the corner of the bedroom, right by the closet. He had already showered back at the arena. All he needed was slip out of his clothes and call it a night. He was too spent to appreciate the suite that Triple H and Stephanie had booked for him, despite the fact it was more luxurious than anything he'd ever experienced in his life. The windows gave way to a breathtaking view of the city. The hot tub placed in the middle of his bathroom was awfully alluring, yet all Seth wanted to do was hop in bed and turn on the plasma screen. He took off his clothes and folded them, placing them on a nearby chair. He flung on a pair of sweatpants and made a beeline for the plush master size bed.

He sighed as he plumped down onto the mattress. It dipped effortlessly under him, his body melting into it. It was truly more comfortable than his own. After responding to texts and doing the roundup of his Twitter feed, he locked his phone and set it on the bedside table. He turned off the lamp hovering over his bed, submerging his room in darkness, save for the light coming from the television screen. Try as he may, Seth couldn't bring himself to fall asleep. He was more than accustomed to it. Sleep rarely came to him. His brain was constantly working, constantly keeping him up. He would never stop thinking about the future, his next move, his legacy, and the overwhelming amount of responsibilities that had been piling up on him. He spent his nights plotting and strategizing. He didn't know how to knock that habit off, even for his own good. It was in his nature, etched in his blood. It was what worked for him.

Hours bled into each other. Seth was tired but was wide awake. He'd given up trying to drowse away. Laying down was futile. He sat against the headboard, leaning his back against it, his head resting in a nest of pillows behind him. He tried his best to get into the movie playing, but for the life of him couldn't. Suddenly, he heard his phone vibrate. He ignored it at first, thinking it was simply a couple of notifications he'd received. The beeping continued though. Someone was calling. Seth quirked an eyebrow in confusion. Who'd want to call him at three in the morning?

He reached for his phone and nearly dropped it when he saw the number calling. He furiously blinked to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. He'd deleted the number from his contacts book, but seemingly not from his memory. He probably never could.

It was Dean Ambrose.

Dean Ambrose was calling him for the first time in nearly a year. It came completely out of left field that Seth thought it must've been a mistake on Ambrose's part when the call went unanswered. But when the phone went off again, Seth was proved wrong. He clutched his phone with both hands in front of him, nervously fiddling with it in his lap.

In truth, Seth had an overflow of reasons not to pick up. He didn't owe Dean Ambrose anything, much less answer his call. Unless he was in a hospital somewhere, dying, and he was still an emergency number of his', that lunatic had no reason to call him at all. He left his past just there, in the past. He didn't dwell on it and didn't acknowledge it. And Ambrose was part of that past. He didn't want, in the least bit, risk partaking in Dean Ambrose's late night mind games. Lord knew he didn't have the mind or energy to. Not to mention it was three fucking o'clock in the morning.

But Seth wasn't one to lie to himself. He couldn't deny that his stomach had flipped at the sight of those familiar digits, that his heart beat just a little bit faster, that a pang of curiosity tingled all the way through his fingertips. Worst case scenario, if it was the mental anguish he'd expected of Ambrose, he'd hang up at the drop of a dime. By the time his phone rang for a third time, his decision was made. He hesitantly pressed the answer button, putting on his best sleepy voice. He'd keep it as short and to the point as he possibly could.

"Hello?"

"Don't pretend like you were asleep."

Seth was placated on the spot. Ambrose's tone was so damn confident, like he knew there was no way he could be wrong. He should've known he couldn't fool Dean of all people. He'd practically lived with him day in and day out for the better part of two years. Seth could pretend to not know who this was, be outraged that someone was badgering the champion at this time of night, patronizing him that way. But he knew it was too insulting, to both of their intelligences.

"What do you want, Ambrose?" Seth kept his voice cold and hostile, already annoyed by him. This was all he would give Ambrose. Cold and hostile.

"Why are you calling me Ambrose? The cameras aren't rolling,  _Seth_."

It seemed as though Seth's initial instinct was ringing true. Ambrose just wanted to mess with his head. He wasn't about to have it.

"I don't have time for your shit."

"Do you have something better to do right now? Other than overworking the fuck out of your brain and staring at the wallpaper, of course."

He had Seth pegged once more. Seth had to put a stop to that right now. It was pissing him off.

"It's a more rational way to spend the time, that's for sure." Seth retorted, rubbing his left eye with the back of his wrist.

"I don't do rational."

"Oh, trust me, I'm very aware."

A few moments went by in silence, and Seth wondered if Ambrose had dozed off on him.

"Why don't you wanna talk to me? I wanna talk to you." Ambrose suddenly asked.

Seth was slightly taken aback by his statement. Something in Ambrose's voice wasn't quite right. It had shifted. It wasn't the same as it'd always been. There wasn't the antagonizing whine he used to mock Seth. This wasn't the brash, unshakeable Dean Ambrose who taunted him at every corner and every turn, the one who got off on tormenting him with bravado and pride. No, he sounded different. He sounded almost defeated, broken down. Something about that wasn't quite believable to Seth. Something was off, because he never expected Dean Ambrose to show him that side of his' ever again, not since he put him down with a chair last June.

"Are you drunk, Ambrose? Or did Harper powerbomb you through that table a little too hard?" He'd seen him put through a table by Luke Harper earlier in the night. He had closely watched the scene unfold on the monitor of his locker room. Seth called it scouting the competition. That bump looked rough as hell, especially considering that Ambrose had gone crashing through a table off the top of a ladder just a few days prior. Served him right for being a loose cannon with total disregard for his body, he had thought.

"I haven't had a single drink tonight." Ambrose answered with a neutral, assured voice. Seth could tell he was trying to prove a point. He wasn't lying. Seth really didn't know what to say.

"So why did you call me? You could've called Reigns."

"I know for a fact that he's asleep right now and you're not."

"And you had no one better to call? You hate the fuck out of my guts, remember?"

Ambrose chuckled, a dim, bitter chuckle. "You know damn well that isn't true. You know it can't ever be true."

Seth was at a loss for words. He didn't know if he was being pranked, if he should just hang up right there and then. But he knew all too well that he was intrigued, too intrigued to walk away from the call now. Silence elapsed once more. It unnerved Seth.

"Roman isn't you. No one's you. You know that."

Seth let out an audible sigh. He was between a rock and a hard place. He knew that if he continued this conversation he'd be swallowed down a whirlpool. He'd swirl down like an anchor in deep sea, with no one to pull him out but himself. That was how the tale had gone every time he and Dean Ambrose were together, just the two of them alone. He was painfully aware of that fact, and yet Seth feared he had already started his descent down that whirlpool, just from answering Ambrose's phone call.

"He's not you. I wanted to talk to  _you_." Seth's blood was pumping heavier in his veins, the thump echoing in his ear.

"You got on just fine without talking to me for a year, didn't you?"

He could hear a sad laugh escape Ambrose's mouth. "Not as well as you think I did."

Seth shut his eyes tightly, swallowing in a deep breath. He was helpless.

"Why did you call me, Dean?" Seth asked with a softer tone, as though he had exhaled any harshness engraved in his voice with that deep breath.

"I'm tired, Seth."

"I don't see how that's how my problem anymore." Because it wasn't his concern anymore. It wasn't. It couldn't be. He was his own biggest preoccupation, his only preoccupation. Not Dean Ambrose. That was the way it'd always been, and that's the way it would always be.

"I'm  _tired_ , Seth. So tired." Dean repeated, ignoring Seth's statement. Somehow, Seth knew, with conviction, that Dean's words held a heavier meaning. They weren't shallow. They implied something else, something deeper. But Seth didn't want to prod. He wouldn't give into the itch to prod.

"I can't help you out."

"I need you, Seth." He could hear heavy breathing on the other line, while his own breathing wasn't even. His breath wasn't supposed to hitch at anything Dean said, not now, not ever. Dean needed  _him_  when he was tired. Not Roman, not anyone else. Him and him alone. It shouldn't matter to him. It really fucking shouldn't. "Times like these I need you, Seth. I've always needed you in times like these..." Seth raised his left knuckles to his mouth, unable to form a sound. "I miss you. Fuck, I miss you so much..."

Seth's heart was hammering through his chest. "Dean...I-"

"Just come to my room, alright? Come to my room. Room 308. I need to see you."

"Dean, I can't..."

"Just come, okay? Please come. I'll be waiting. I'll be waiting for you, Seth."

The line went off. Dean had immediately hung up. He clearly didn't want to hear what else Seth had to say. He wasn't giving him a choice in the matter. Seth was left staring at the phone he had lowered from his ear. He put it down on the mattress next to him. He stirred from his position, throwing his feet onto the floor. He sat on the side of the bed, head cradled in his hands as he rested his elbows on his thighs. He was torn to shreds. He had never expected his night to evolve the way it had. Never had he anticipated Dean Ambrose, his now sworn enemy, calling him, begging him to come see him, telling him he needed him, telling him he missed him. The shock of it all hit him like a sword, going through him and splitting him in two. His head was reeling.

It was clear in Seth's head what the obvious choice was, the right choice. He unquestionably needed to reject Ambrose's invitation, send him packing and tell him to never look his way again. He wasn't his keeper. He wasn't a fucking babysitter. He was the WWE World Heavyweight Champion, and Ambrose was nothing more than a long gone shadow in his rearview mirror.

But a force, much stronger than his common sense, was pushing him the opposite direction. It was telling him that deep inside, rejecting Dean  _wasn't_  what he wanted, that he wanted to find out what was wrong, that he should go see him,  _had to_  go see him just because it was Dean. It was Dean.

As though floating on air, his limbs moved on their own, moving to his bag and picking out the first random tee shirt he could find. With each step closer to Dean's room, Seth was excruciatingly conscious of the fact that he would come to regret this decision the next day, if not the next hour. He had lost his mind. He knew he had. Yet each step taken across the hallway and down the stairs was beyond his control. Beyond his explanation. Every fibre of his being was at war with the other. Alarm bells were resonating through his head. But all he could do was move forward and closer to Dean's room. It was infuriating. It was so wrong. He couldn't help it.

Standing in front of the 308 plate felt surreal. Seth couldn't believe he was doing this. He stood there for a good minute, looking at the carpet beneath his feet, calming himself before the storm. Stepping through the threshold meant he would slide down that dreaded whirlpool. He'd be beyond saving. His sanity had always been no match for Dean Ambrose.

The three tentative knocks on Dean's door mirrored the beats of his heart, slowly but surely pounding in his chest. His gaze was focalized on the floor, his forehead skimming the wooden door. A short few moments later, he heard the click of the lock and before he knew it, he was looking up into reddened eyes, the normally vibrant blue irises sunken in, the bags underneath them visible. Despite that, Seth saw the faintest of twinkles in them as they locked gazes.

"You're here."

"I'm here."

Dean must've not been sure that Seth would show up, the expression on his face vaguely surprised. Dean further opened the door, just enough to invite Seth in. He walked back to his bedroom and Seth followed behind. It was much smaller than his'. He couldn't see much in it. It was completely muted by blackness, the only light coming from the bathroom. Seth watched in silence as Dean slid down the wall adjacent to it. He rested his head against it with a loud thud, one that didn't seem to perturb Dean in the least. With a forearm pressed over his forehead, covering his eyes, he patted the spot next to him with his left hand, beckoning Seth to join him on the floor.

"You know you have chairs and sofas for this, right? That's what the whole sitting concept is about."

Dean slightly moved his forearm, cracking an eye open, his chest puffing up. "What, are your sweatpants too royal to sit on the fucking carpet?" He protested, releasing an exasperated sigh. "Just come sit next to me, Seth."

Apprehensively, Seth made his way next to Dean, gingerly sitting on the floor cross-legged, doubts creeping up the whole time. He intertwined his fingers, watching as they fidgeted uncomfortably together. He turned his head towards Dean, studying him for a quiet moment. His head was still against the white wall, eyes closed, chin tilted up, his hands now placed at his sides, his legs extended in front of him. His forehead was wrinkled effortlessly, as if he'd been born with them. The contours of his face were protruding, more visible than usual. His shoulders were limply dangling down. His whole body was giving out just how worn out he felt, an illustration of unadulterated fatigue to the point of almost freaking Seth out. Almost.

"Did you let the trainers check up on you? See if you had a concussion or something?"

Dean opened his eyes, narrowed enough to focus on Seth. "Yeah. Yeah, they did their tests. Said that I escaped a concussion through the skin of my teeth and that I should lay low for a while." Dean responded, his eyelids collapsing once more.

"You should get a second opinion... Y'know, just to make sure."

"Nah. Don't need a second opinion. I'll be just fine."

"It's for your own good."

"Said I don't need it."

Debating with Dean Ambrose was useless. It more than likely never led to anything. It was frustrating. "You're still too stubborn for your own good..." Seth mumbled, almost to himself. But Dean heard him and opened his eyes, wider than before, staring intensely at Seth. The most faded of amused smirks appeared on Dean's face. "But you don't care about that."

Dean's response flustered Seth. "I don't. I don't care. I mean, it-it doesn't affect me, so..." Seth was trying his very hardest to stay poised. "I don't care."

Dean simply stared at him, searching his face for  _something_ , unsettling Seth in his own skin. "Yeah, I know." Dean held his gaze for a few seconds longer before returning to his former position, his eyes facing the ceiling.

Seth didn't know how long they stayed like that, wordless, each of them in their own bubble, Seth motionlessly looking at the carpet ahead of him. His nerves were twitching, and through stolen glances, he could tell Dean didn't reflect his anxiousness.

"My head hurts so fuckin' bad," Dean expressed out of the blue.

"If you just listened..." Seth got no answer to that. Instead, Dean just brought his head down to Seth's level, fixating his brown eyes on his'. They were coated with haziness yet perfectly anchored on Seth in their own mysterious way.

"You look good, Seth. You look really fucking good."

It was too much. It was suffocating, and he knew a big part of it had to do with the words going through his ears, capturing his breath on the way out. He couldn't do this anymore.

"Why did you want me to come over, Dean?"

Not a single nerve in Dean's face so much as twitched. He was static. The only thing remotely swivelling was the heat pooling in his eyes. "I'm tired, Seth." Dean was reiterating what he'd said over the phone. It strung Seth's uneasiness to no end. He couldn't stand to look at Dean anymore.

"But what does it have to do with me?"

"Because I'm tired, Seth." Seth was about to blow a gasket. But his anger immediately simmered down when Dean spoke again, listening closely. "All I do is fight. I fight and I fall flat on my ass. I fight and I never win, I never fucking win. I put my fucking life on the line and I get fuck all. I fight for the Intercontinental Championship and I get thrown off a fucking ladder and crash through tables. I fight for the honor of my family or whatever's fucking left of it and get electrocuted. I fight for you and..." Seth couldn't not look at Dean anymore. He was strained, his voice a murmur yet full of resentment. "I fight for you and what do I get. I get my head put through fucking cinderblocks. I get fucked over every chance you got. I fought for you and I lost, even though you were the most important thing in my life. You-you meant everything and I lost. I lose all the time and I'm sick of it..." Suddenly, Dean was scooting closer and Seth forgot how to breathe, feeling his own eyes soften. Looking at Dean was too much, his head helplessly dipping down. A gentle finger traveled up the side of his jaw, smoothing over his beard, leaving trails of fire behind it. It angled his face towards Dean's, pulling his eyes towards his' like a magnet. He was lost in them. "I'm tired of losing, Seth, so tired..."

Dean was inching nearer to him, slowly, gradually. Seth couldn't bring himself to pull away, couldn't bring himself to even move his hands, too hypnotized by the man in front of him, too entranced by the words that had left his mouth, directed to him. Dean was so close. His hand was cupping his cheek, his face softly tipped to the side. Their noses touched. With one final look in each other's eyes, Seth's eyes fluttered shut, sensation smoldering him. Dean's lips closed in on his', the sweetest, softest press of lips he'd ever felt and Seth whimpered. The touch of their lips was so overwhelming, washing over him in waves. Their mouths simply touched as they breathed together. The warmth was so familiar, so tempting, so damn welcoming. It felt like home. It was so easy to give in. To lose himself in the incredible, mesmerizing, spellbinding feeling that was Dean and his eyes and his lips and his body and his  _everything_. It was so easy to go back there again, to live it again. Too easy.

But as Dean pursed his lips to kiss Seth, Seth lowered his head. He couldn't. He couldn't commit to the dive, couldn't take the full plunge. He didn't have it in him. Dean was frozen in place, his lips coldly laying against Seth's temple. Seth shuddered, scurrying away from Dean. He chanced a look at Dean's eyes. They'd turned ice cold, distant, unreadable, so different from what they'd been mere moments ago.

"You should get some rest, Dean." His voice was a quivering whisper. Dean's eyes faltered, plummeting down. He quietly nodded, a lifeless movement. Seth was pretty sure he was a second away from faltering too. They couldn't be in the same room when it happened. They just couldn't.

Seth straightened up, lifting himself up from the ground. The sight of Dean like this, drowning in a sea of despair and defeat, felt like knives thrown through him. He couldn't stand it, couldn't deal with it. He didn't have the guts to. And he knew it. He had to go. He couldn't witness this anymore.

"Take care of yourself, Dean."

Seth turned his back to Dean, hurrying out of the room, without a last glance over his shoulder. He forcefully grabbed the door knob, holding onto it like it were his lifeline, the only thing that could physically ground him. He pushed down on it, jostling past the threshold before noiselessly closing the door behind him. Instantly, he hunched over. He was worse for wear. It was as though he got punched in the stomach, gasping for air, his chest violently heaving up and down. He hadn't felt this way in such a long time, hadn't allowed himself to be consumed by feelings and emotions since he'd turned his back on the man on the other side of the door. He too was tired. So tired. His legs buckled as he slid down the wall, sitting there until he lost track of time.

He was tired too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two has happened, folks. Thank you so much for the support on the first one. It encouraged me a lot to write a continuation. This chapter was such a challenge to write, and honestly, I'm extremely nervous about posting it. I seriously hope you enjoy it!

 

Seth Rollins didn’t leave unturned pages in his life. He’d never done it and he’d never liked it. He consciously turned his pages, knowing the full reasoning behind it. He knew his reasons and knew why he was moving onto the next chapter. He knew why he was closing the book on certain people and aspects of his life. And when he did, there was no going back. He no longer cared for them. He left them in that book until it became dusty and they’d become a sheered out memory. Nothing was left undecided or undefined. It was all clear in his head. He didn’t leave unturned pages.

 

However, that had been seriously put to question, ever since that night in Dean Ambrose’s room. He thought he had irrevocably moved on from the other man, closed the door on him and etched him in stone. He thought he had categorically taken him out of his life with that decisive chair shot to the spine all those months ago. He had led himself to believe that Dean Ambrose no longer affected him in any way, that one look at him wouldn’t even make him fidget. 

 

But he had clearly thought wrong.

 

The thought of that night in Dean’s room worked his brain in circles, tied his stomach up in knots. He regretted it, but for all the wrong reasons. He didn’t regret going because he was complying to Dean Ambrose’s demands, the man who’d taken it upon himself to ruin his life and career for months on end. No, he regretted it because it confronted him to reality. He wasn’t the cold-blooded machine he’d trained himself to be. He wasn’t able to turn off his emotions like a click on a button. He wasn’t able to stop the trail that his past left behind. He had opened the door to a closet full of skeletons he didn’t know he had. He wasn’t immune to Dean. 

 

What he and Dean shared wasn’t simple by any means. It wasn’t the platonic partnership he had with Reigns. It went far beyond the false pretence of a friendship. What they had wasn’t just physical or sexual. It was sensual. It ran deep, deep in their core and bones. The countless nights spent together, wrapped in bedsheets, tangled up in one another, crying out each other’s name, they weren’t impersonal. They were anything _but_ impersonal like Seth had convinced himself. He had convinced himself that their late night encounters were just a way to kill some time, that the searing kisses they had were nothing more than sexual tension, that the first time he let Dean top was nothing more than a bit of variety in the bedroom. Dean was Seth’s first, the first man Seth had ever let inside him  — but he still told himself, with all his might, that it was just experimenting something new, that it wasn’t a big deal. That’s what made it easy, or easier, to tear down The Shield. Because nothing they had was real, nothing they had meant something so it could actually hurt. Betraying Dean was like ripping off a bandaid. It stung for a moment, but he felt fine after it.

 

But if it was so, if it had been so easy to walk away from Dean, why was it that the night in Dean’s room was driving him insane? Why was it that he couldn’t shake off the turmoil he’d felt in his chest at the simple thought of it? Why was it that a week later, every detail replayed in front of his eyes in vivid memory? That the numbness he saw in Dean’s eyes followed him like a shadow ever since?

 

Seth realized that he and Dean’s page wasn’t turned or ripped out of his book. It’d been there all along, rumpled and rustled, but it was still there. And the ink was still fresh.

 

Seth desperately needed closure. He needed to sort things out so that he could move forward, put an end to this everlasting chapter and be able to pour his undivided focus into his job and into his title reign.  

 

He had no idea how to go about it, though. It certainly didn’t help when his counterpart walked around like he wanted no part of him. He walked around like nothing had ever happened. He didn’t even acknowledge Seth the next morning as he passed him in the lobby, strolling past him like a stranger. Dean didn’t so much as shoot him a glance or flinch when Seth entered a room he was in. Dean looked through him like he were a ghost. It was like Seth didn’t even exist. And that pissed the hell out of him. 

 

Seth couldn’t believe what had become of him. With one phone call, Dean Ambrose released a side of him no one had before. Seth was used to having the spotlight on him. He was used to being the center of attention. But never was he one to crave attention, to covet the eyes of _one_ man on him. And right now, he needed Dean’s eyes on him, _had_ to have his eyes on him. Seth hated that Dean rendered him to this. It overshadowed all that he’d constructed for himself, not just since forming The Shield, but since the beginning of his career. All the same, Seth was aware that the same curiosity that got him in trouble was still there, swarming around. He was curious to see how Dean was doing, to see what he’d been hiding under that sharp, careless facade, to see if he was still as dejected and broken as he was the last time. Seth knew that a part of him, minute as it may be, cared about Dean. And perhaps that was what truly frustrated him. 

 

Seth wanted answers to get on with his life. He wanted to go back to normal as soon as humanly possible. It was with that frame of mind that he may have sped his footsteps that much more when, two weeks later, he spotted a shaggy blond in a ragged leather jacket head towards the hotel elevator alone, his bags following behind. He never wanted to corner Dean, knowing how unpredictable he was. But that was the hand he was given. It was quite possibly the only way he could get a grasp on a bit of clarity. It was a golden opportunity presented in front of Seth, and he’d be damned if he didn’t seize it. He was done being snubbed.

 

Seth just managed to squeeze inside the elevator before the doors could close, hurriedly busting in. It was just him and Dean. Calmly, he stood next to him, side by side, shoulder to shoulder. Dean didn’t seem to have noticed him, too busy picking up some of his fallen luggage, grumbling under his breath. 

 

“Dean.”

 

It was only then that Dean took him in, took in his presence. Seth could see Dean physically freeze in his spot, halfway through standing up again. His head was fully turned to face the blond whose eyes had instantly widened and turned to steel, shooting daggers through the brown marble doors ahead of them. Slowly, Dean straightened himself up, without uttering a sound. Suddenly, the elevator seemed much smaller than it was. Seth could feel the air get heavier. The tension was building up by the second, thick enough to be sliced with a knife. 

 

“Dean,” Seth repeated. Dean remained motionless. Dean was a challenge to deal with as it was. But it was even more difficult when he was like this, entirely emotionless, isolated in an impenetrable fortress surrounding him. Seth couldn’t decipher Dean. He was unattainable. Seth didn’t know how to prepare for him in that state, didn’t know how to handle him at all.

 

“Are you seriously gonna ignore me?” He was still not granted any response. Dean hadn’t moved an inch, though Seth could sense wrath bubbling up in Dean’s eyes, intensifying with every strenuous breath he visibly took. The daggers coming out of his eyes had morphed into bullets. At least that was something Seth could work with. Impatience was starting to get the best of him. It was only a matter of time before the elevator would come to a stop and his chance at closure get thrown out of the window.

 

“Are we really gonna pretend that nothing happened?”

“We’re gonna pretend that nothing happened.” Dean answered with a stern, cold voice, his jaw rigid, clenched. He still refused to look at Seth or even sneak a peek at him. Seth got an answer, but it wasn’t the one he wanted.

 

“Don’t you think we should at least talk about it?” Seth asked with gentleness in his tone, trying to soothe Dean, like a parent negotiating with an unconsolable child. That was the route his brain had chosen to take. The question seemed to have the opposite effect though, as Dean squeezed his eyes closed and pursed his lips together, his right foot starting to drum on the floor. 

 

“Talk about what exactly? How much of a fucking idiot I was for calling you that night? How I fucked up by opening up to you and have it thrown back in my face again? How I told you I needed you and you left me to burn on my fucking own again?” His voice was hardly above a murmur, but every word was gritted through his teeth, slammed with the utmost resentment.

 

“Dean...”

 

“Are you here to rub it in my face or something? Is that why you’re here?”

 

“What? No, Dean-”

 

Seth instinctively reached out for Dean, attempting to place the palm of his hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean wouldn’t tolerate the touch, jerking away so violently that it startled Seth, causing him to take a step backwards, all while watching Dean with gaping eyes. 

 

“Don’t touch me! Just...just don’t-” Dean nearly yelled, forcing himself to lower his voice as he spoke. His body had gotten even tenser. His shoulders were raised to his ears, his fists clenched so tightly they had whitened, his eyes still firmly wound shut. He exhaled a deep breath, releasing his knuckles free. As if on cue, the elevator ding echoed around them, stomping down Seth’s spirit along with it as the polished doors slid open. Dean reached behind to grab his suitcases, grasping the handle with a solid hold.

 

“Nothing ever happened, alright?” And for a single, solitary second that night, Dean looked at Seth from the corner of his sharp eyes as he moved forward. He could see in his glance the hostility he'd expected, but he saw some pleading radiating there too, almost like Dean was imploring Seth to let it go through his blue eyes.  

 

In the blink of an eye, Dean was out of the elevator, the sound of his luggage wheels against the concrete floor ringing in Seth’s ears as he trudged away. The doors slid closed on Seth. He backed himself up in the far right corner of the cubicle. He needed a minute to recollect his thoughts, rubbing the pads of his fingers against his temple. He was bewildered by the events of the previous few minutes. Despite knowing Dean like the back of his hand, Seth didn’t anticipate that reaction from Dean. Dean radically refused to discuss that night, didn’t even bear the mention of it. Seth could tell that he wanted to erase that memory from his mind completely, a memory that brought out of him unfiltered rage. Dean was hurt. Seth had hurt Dean. Again. Seth didn’t know what he felt about that fact exactly, but things had gotten even messier between them, he knew that much. He was even more confused than he was before, conflict magnifying in his chest. 

 

So much for getting closure. 

 

The last of Seth’s common sense kicked in, realizing that standing there in an elevator alone was pointless. He stepped forward and pressed on the button to his floor, watching as the number above ticked up one at a time. He wanted to give up on that closure so badly.

 

As it turned out, giving up was the only option Seth had, the only thing he _could_ do. Dean went straight back to disregarding Seth, never once looking his way. He was resuming life as it had always gone on, being the goofball he was known to be, engaging in easygoing conversations with their coworkers and charming the Divas like the smooth criminal he’d always been. He seemed to be fully focused on getting revenge on Luke Harper before eventually getting his way. Seth was watching Dean like a hawk, borderline stalker-like, observing every little thing that he did, so much so that it was starting to throw him off kilter. The worst part was, he knew it and he couldn’t do anything about it. That seemed to be the reoccurring theme around him and Dean.

 

Soon enough, giving up on closure became the one thing he _needed_ to do. Dean Ambrose, with renewed vigor, had somehow managed to meddle in his business, in the WWE World Heavyweight Championship picture. Thanks to that useless fucking tool Kane, Dean had managed to score a match against him, vying to insert himself in the title match at Payback. The stipulation, in and of itself, threw Seth off his game. It certainly frazzled him even more that his opponent was the one person who’d successfully gotten under his skin like no one else had. To his shock and chagrin, Dean rolled Seth up and got the victory. His title defense at the pay-per-view had consequently become a fatal four-way. Seth was absolutely incensed, throwing a fit in the ring like a madman, while Ambrose was celebrating all the way up the ramp, a grin pulled from ear to ear. This was bullshit. This was unacceptable. Unacceptable. 

 

Seth was seeing red, flames eating up at his insides. He marched through the curtain and down the backstage area, his eyes twitching in sheer fury, evacuating people from his vicinity. He needed to be alone, _demanded_ to be alone, viciously dismissing Joey and Jamie when they prodded too much. He slammed the door of his locker room and immediately threw his championship on his black duffel bag, dropping himself on the wooden bench. He ran his hands roughly through his hair, tugging a little too hard, the events of the night weighing heavy on his psyche.

 

Guilt settled in on Seth. This was _his_ doing. It was his fault that Ambrose was in the position he was in, contending for _his_ WWE World Heavyweight Championship. If he’d been attentive, if he’d been fully zoned in on the task at hand, if he wasn’t so goddamn obsessed with Dean Ambrose and their little encounters, then this night would’ve never transpired the way it did. The outcome would’ve been a lot different, with Seth making a statement, standing on top of a beaten, laid out Dean Ambrose, holding up his title proudly in the air, showing the world that he was worth every bit of hype he had ever gotten. Instead, he’d been embarrassed, shown up by a man who’d been in the slump of his career just because he couldn’t put his petty personal feelings aside. Ambrose was getting his shot to stand under the sun at his expense, at the _champion’s_ expense and in no way was this right. None.

 

A new fire sparked in Seth. It wasn’t the ire he’d wanted to unleash at everyone in sight. It was the right kind of fire, the kind of fire that rekindled Seth’s drive to be the absolute fucking best. This defeat was a wakeup call. Whatever was going on between him and Dean Ambrose was no longer just personal. It was business, and that was where Seth had to draw the line. Messing with the emotions he’d wrongfully exposed was one thing. But messing with his career, with his title reign, with everything he had worked for the last decade of his life? That wasn’t something he was gonna remotely accept. 

 

If Dean Ambrose wanted to walk around like nothing ever happened between them, then so be it. Seth could do the same. Two can tango. If it was a war Dean Ambrose wanted, then it was a war he’d get. Seth worked hard, too damn hard to have his empire crumble because of empty, useless wishes. This was _his_ yard now. Playtime was over. No one was allowed to get in his way. No one was allowed to get in his head. Not even Dean Ambrose.

 

That was the plan going forward. It quickly paid off as Seth successfully retained his championship in that dreaded four-way, pinning Randy Orton who’d been a thorn in his side for several months, ending the debate once and for all as to who was better. But that plan met a roadblock fast, as Ambrose badgered Seth for another opportunity at his championship, pitting his skull against cinderblocks to blackmail his way into it, an homage to what he’d done to Ambrose last year. To add to it, Ambrose was once again back to his infuriating juvenile antics, stealing Seth’s title when their match at Elimination Chamber ended in a disqualification, cracking jokes left and right about him, pouring popcorn over his head and costing him a handicap match against J&J. Most importantly, he’d led people to genuinely believe that Seth was incapable of success on his own, that he was a worthless, gutless champion when left on his own. Dean Ambrose had once again found a way to make a fool out of Seth which, in turn, caused Seth to alienate himself from everyone, including those closest to him in the Authority. Ambrose had pushed him to his breaking point. It had gotten way out of hand, and now, Seth had a big chip on his shoulder. He needed to prove that he was more than capable to hold onto his title without anybody’s help or support, that he had the _right_ to be called champion, that the joke was on Ambrose all along, that he was _better_ ****than Dean Ambrose. It was a vital need, and Seth wouldn’t get a minute’s worth of sleep before he rested his case. This was a quest for pride.

 

Seth’s eyes were exclusively on the prize, on _his_ championship belt, watching as it was raised twenty feet above the ring. He was laser focused on his mission, nothing there to sidetrack him. When the bell rang, all morality was extinguished. Seth found an opening, targeting Ambrose’s leg, ruthlessly going after it, attacking it with his fists, his feet, ladders and anything in his tunnel vision. Ambrose was in excruciating pain but Seth didn’t care, couldn’t care. He was all over that leg like a mercenary. He had to do what needed to be done in order to retain his title, all alone. He’d go to the depths of hell if need be. But for all the reckless, vicious, meticulous offense Seth was dishing out, Dean kept getting back up. Seth contorted his leg in ways a leg couldn’t be bent, and Dean _still_ found a way to fight back. Seth was both in awe and in shock, frustration pent up inside him when he couldn’t put down Ambrose for good. The match was a battle, a gruesome, physical, mental battle. Ultimately, the end came down to him and Ambrose yanking the belt from the other on top of a ladder, falling off of it as they had hold of the title. As they came crashing down, Seth somehow had the wherewithal to powerfully flick his wrists, forcefully pulling the title away from Ambrose and capturing it in both hands when they hit the mat. Seth had literally managed to hold onto his championship at the very last second.

 

He’d done it. Just narrowly. But he’d done it.

 

The victory didn’t truly sink in until Triple H and Stephanie McMahon appeared on the stage, huge grins beaming on their faces, enthusiastically clapping for Seth. Seth couldn’t help but smile back, a vague sense of dignity and accomplishment filling him. Seth limped towards them and let them pull him in for a hug, taking in their encouraging words and telling them he’d done it, and that he’d done it for them. But as he turned around to look back at his challenger, his breath hiccuped in his throat, the smile on his face fading ever so slightly. Dean was sitting against the ropes, slumped down, looking absolutely devastated. His body mirrored how wrecked it was that night in Dean’s hotel room, except his eyes weren’t cold and lifeless like they’d been before he walked out. Instead, they were obscured by sadness, by total and utter desolation, and Seth knew that in that moment, his voice would’ve sounded just as broken as it did in that phone call. Seth raised his title up in the air but it was a hollow move, destined to show off the last, dwindling bits of pride he was feeling. Congratulatory applauds followed Seth all the way to his locker room, to which Seth responded with a formulated, cocky smile plastered on his face, completely on autopilot. When he was left to his own devices, Seth dropped that smile and let the happiness he’d felt when the bell rang run out like sand through the hourglass. He had just shown to the world what he was all about, what a worthy, fighting champion he really was. He’d shown them that he was right about himself all along. And yet, he couldn’t truly savor what that win meant, couldn’t bask in the high of victory, because in truth, he couldn’t feel it. Because that victory didn’t taste as sweet as he thought it would. It didn’t taste sweet at all. It tasted bitter.

 

If Seth thought he’d finally be able to get a decent night of sleep, he was sorely mistaken. After an hour of tossing and turning, Seth threw the covers off himself and got out of bed, coming to terms with the fact that it’d be yet another restless night. The room suddenly became too encompassing, suffocating him just a bit. Clad in a pair of black boxers, he put on a dated band tee shirt and slid the door to the balcony open, immediately feeling refreshed by the cool breeze in his nostrils. He rested his forearms on the gunmetal rails, gazing ahead at the landscape. The sky was blackened by the midnight hour while the city lights shone of reds and oranges and purples. The streets were deserted save for the stray cars rolling down the roads. As he took in the beauty of the city, loneliness dawned in on Seth, mixed with the very real fatigue decimating his body.  

 

Seth was sore all over. The ladder match was taking a major toll on his aching muscles. He was lucky he’d gotten away with scratches and bruises. Those healed fine. But Seth was afraid that the match had taken more out of him than just physical pain. It’d broken him down emotionally. Here he was, standing after the most significant title defense he’d had so far, feeling like there was a dent in his soul. This was his night to celebrate, to pop champagne bottles and flip off the naysayers for doubting him this whole time. But he couldn’t enjoy any of his well earned joy, couldn’t even stomach it.

 

Yeah, he got what he wanted. He still had the title at the end of the day. But he destroyed Dean’s spirit along the way. He didn’t know why it mattered. But it did. The truth of the matter was, mentally, he was back to where he was a few weeks back, sitting next to Dean on his floor, a millisecond away from kissing him. And Seth didn’t know what to do about that, didn’t know how he’d even process it. He felt powerless. He just wanted to shut his brain for a while, voidness in his eyes as he looked to the sky, time a long forgotten notion.

 

The sound of his phone going off inside the room shook Seth out of his blank, impassive trance. His stomach flipped. His heart picked up in pace, his fingers starting to tremor where they stood on the rail. It was late. Very late. No one called Seth this late. No one but him. And he’d seen him after their match, the unguarded look in his eyes telling a story of their own, a stark contrast from the unbreakable front he’d directed to Seth since that fated night. He was vulnerable, broken down, shattered. With tentative footsteps, Seth made his way back into his room, nervously approaching the nightstand. He picked up his phone and huffed out the breath he’d been holding when it was the same ten digits he didn’t realize he’d been waiting for the whole night. With one last breath, eyes shut, he took the call.

 

“Hello?”

“Hey.” Dean’s voice was so small, smaller than he could ever remember it. Seth was on the verge of quivering.

“Hey.”

“I lost.”

“You lost.” Seth confirmed. There was no hiding behind the truth.

“I lost, Seth. I lost again.”

Seth sighed, looking up at the ceiling. He knew how much defeat hurt, especially after the war they’d been in mere hours ago.

“It was anybody’s ballgame. You almost had me beat. You know that.”

“I almost had the win, Seth. I almost beat you.”

“You did.”

“But it wasn’t good enough. The title literally slipped right through my fingers. I almost had it. I...I had it, Seth. But it fucking slipped through my fingers, it just-it slipped through...”

Seth ruffled his hair with an anxious left hand. There was no consoling Dean, no way to soften the blow. He didn’t know the right words to say to him. “Dean...”

 

Several moments went by in silence, unnerving Seth to no end, moments where he wanted Dean to say anything he could reply to with the right words, hoping, praying that he wasn’t gonna hang up on him.

“Dean-”

“Open the door.”

Seth didn’t understand, the words not registering in his mind. “Wh-what?”

“Open the door, Seth.”

 

Seth’s heart jumped up his throat, the blood in his veins pulsating in thumps, his bottom lip trembling under his teeth. It couldn’t be.

 

Out of pure instinct, his brain long gone, Seth walked to the door, lowering his phone from his right ear, the hand holding it palpitating with nervousness. The doorknob shook under Seth’s grasp. It couldn’t be. 

 

But it could be. It could be, because when Seth unlocked the door, he was there. Dean was there, in his leather jacket, hair tousled, leaning against the doorframe, phone still pressed against his ear, his eyes sparkling when they laid eyes on Seth. Seth’s mouth opened the slightest bit, his eyes melting as he looked at the man ahead of him, shy and insecure like he’d never seen him. He could feel lightening flicker inside his body as they locked gazes, staring at each other for god knows how long.

 

“Hey,” Dean spoke, finally putting away his phone.

“H-hey.”

 

Breaking their stare for a moment, Seth moved out of the doorway, over to the side, implicitly inviting Dean in. Dean closely followed behind, trudging the small distance to the bedroom. Seth turned to face Dean as soon as they’d made it, completely enraptured by his eyes. With just one look, the unspoken electricity that the two had always shared was ever present, almost palpable. It was stinging Seth’s brown eyes like acid. Staring into Dean’s eyes was like looking into the sun, blinding him, blowing him away, and Seth could swear he had the same effect on Dean. Something was different in the air, swirling around them in tidal waves, and Seth couldn’t do a damn thing about it, wasn’t sure if he wanted to anyway.

 

“I lost.”

“You lost.” Seth could feel his irises weakening under his lids, the expression on Dean’s face not budging at all, his eyes simply staring into Seth’s soul.

“But I’m tired of losing, Seth.” Dean was echoing the same words he’d said to Seth the last time around, stabbing Seth all over again. “I’m tired of failing, I’m tired of losing. So tired.” Dean’s hands raised and fell by his sides within a second, exasperation weighing them down. His piercing blue eyes were intensifying with every passing second, entirely too magnetizing, Seth losing track of reality. “I’m tired.”

 

All Seth knew to be true was blurred. All he knew to be reasonable didn’t count. Everything around them was foggy. Nothing else mattered because with Dean, _Dean_ , standing in front of him, staring at him like he were the only person he needed in this life, telling him he was tired, confiding in him, bringing out of him emotions he’d veiled for years, Seth couldn’t just stand there. He’d do whatever it took to take away Dean’s pain. He wouldn’t let him lose anymore. He’d make him feel better. He’d make himself feel better. Because he was tired too.

 

With the thud of his phone dropping on the carpet, Seth closed the distance between him and Dean, crashing their lips together, his right hand going straight to the back of Dean’s neck. It only took Dean a second before he was moaning and kissing back, his lips moving ferociously against Seth’s, pulling him closer by the neckline of his shirt. The kiss got deep and rough quickly. Dean was devouring his lips while Seth gave it back just as hard, both of them kissing like they’d been starving for the other for too damn long. Their mouths opened to the other, no invitation needed, their tongues tangling together in a moment’s notice, tasting, twisting and searching for the depths of the other’s throat. Nothing about the kiss was soft or relaxed. It was messy and lewd and dirty and raunchy and absolutely fucking perfect. Wanton noises were freely released from their mouths, resonating around them like a spellbinding harmony.

 

With a sticky sweet peck to Seth’s lips, Dean broke their kiss, delving into Seth’s eyes. His lips were swollen, reddened, poutier than usual, his eyes glimmering with something that very much resembled hope, and Seth couldn’t say for sure that his eyes weren’t doing the same. Without a word, Dean tugged at the bottom of Seth’s shirt, holding their eye contact, silently asking for permission. All Seth could do was nod, because that was all he wanted right now, all he needed. He raised his arms, beckoning Dean to take it off for him. Dean got even closer, looking at him through the corner of his eyes, before slowly, gently lifting the shirt over his head. He stared at Seth from head to toe, scrutinizing every inch of his body, before returning his eyes to Seth’s, looking at him in a way that made his heart stop beating inside his chest, like he were the most mesmerizing, perfect thing he’d ever laid eyes on. He looked at him like no one _ever_ had and it was too much. Seth was sinking and his only rescue was in the one person who was drowning him whole. He pulled Dean in for another kiss, nipping at his lips with his teeth before he whispered against them.

 

“Take off your clothes.”

 

Dean backtracked a step and obliged, stripping down to his white briefs, watching Seth watching _him_. Every single one of his movements was like silk, fluid every step of the way. Dean’s body was hypnotizing. Seth couldn’t stop gawking, taking in his slender waist, his perfectly toned arms, his chiseled abdomen, remembering just how much he was attracted to Dean. Seth pounced on him like a predator, grabbing him by the shoulders and kissing him like his life depended on it, his tongue licking every crevasse of his mouth, guiding him towards the bed. Dean’s knees buckled as they fell to the mattress, holding Seth by the waist to flip them around. He backed Seth up against the headboard, his head plumping down onto the pillows. Dean was over him in a flash, his mouth going right for his neck, Seth’s back arching up in sensation. He kissed and bit and sucked at his neck, leaving bruises that’d surely mark his skin but he didn’t care, couldn’t care less, guttural moan after the other escaping his mouth, his eyes wrenched shut, his fists curling around the white linen sheets. Dean’s mouth wandered down his bare torso, mapping out every curve and every muscle with his lips, tending to every inch like he were worshipping it, sinking his teeth into his hipbones, causing Seth to thrust his hardened groin against Dean. Dean stilled for a moment, Seth whining at the loss of his touch. He peeked through his lashes to take a look at Dean, only to find him staring right back at him, his face hovering just over his briefs, the hunger in his stormy eyes enough to make Seth forget how to breathe. He leaned down impossibly slow, teasing and torturing Seth, mouthing over his penis, his member past the point of throbbing under the fabric. Seth all but moaned, the feel of Dean’s mouth like fire in his blood, burning him down to ashes.

 

Without preamble, Dean paused his ministrations, slithering his way up Seth’s body, bringing their faces to the same level, his eyes wide and bright as they stared into Seth’s. Seth was falling apart, panting wildly. He was so close to coming undone right there and then, just from Dean’s mouth and his fucking gorgeous soul searching eyes and Seth couldn’t let go right now, not when he needed so much more, not when he needed his entire fucking being to be consumed by Dean. He hooked his right leg around his back and switched positions, straddling Dean’s hips, spreading his palms across his pecs, Dean compliant to the shift. Seth splayed his body across his chest, his fingers travelling down the length of Dean’s arms, watching as they traced over every ridge and every vein, feeling the heat in his skin escalate where he touched him. He lowered his head to Dean’s collarbone, slacking his mouth open against it, his tongue lapping over the skin to taste it. Dean tasted so damn good, the sheer layer of dampness tasting even sweeter, tasting like everything he’d been looking for. His mouth rove up to the base of Dean’s neck, nestling his face there, inhaling his scent, the musky cologne Seth knew so well with a tinge of sweat. Seth was revelling in it, revelling in its familiarity, his mind flooded with a sense of belonging. He looked up when Dean whimpered, his eyes blazing and darkened, entirely enthralled by Seth. Seth brought himself up to eye level, his hands circling around Dean’s wrists, pinning them down. He ground their hips with an effortlessly sensuous movement, grinding them together, watching Dean the entire time, watching as he shut his eyes at the friction, watching as he squirmed and wrenched his back against the mattress, his mouth wide agape. Dean had never looked this damn beautiful than in that moment. It amazed Seth.

 

With a slow, smooth motion, Seth slid both of their briefs off, immediately returning his hand to Dean’s wrist, pressing their erections together, gasping loudly at the contact. Seth shuddered like he’d been rocked, their penises stroking the other like a quake to his body, freezing him in place then warming him up fast, the heat between their bodies scorching. Dean’s every limb was extended far out, his neck arched, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he gulped hard. They rubbed against each other until Seth felt precum pumping out of them both, coating their lengths. Seth released Dean’s left wrist, his fingers moving down to Dean’s pelvis, cupping his balls before continuing down, smoothing over Dean’s hole. Dean stiffened in surprise, his eyes popping out of his skull and Seth could sense him going frigid. He drew steady circles with his thumb over the pucker, the hand holding Dean’s wrist gently caressing it, silently asking him to trust him, to calm down for him. Dean seemed to understand, inhaling deeply, his muscles contracting, his body relaxing, eventually opening up to Seth’s fingers. Seth slid a finger in, then two, then three, stretching Dean out, each time waiting for Dean to ride out the sharp bite of pain. When he felt him sufficiently ready, Seth scooted up the bed, reaching out for the top drawer of his nightstand where he kept lube and condoms. But as soon as he did, Seth felt fingers wrapping around the hand he held out, Dean bringing it down to the mattress. Seth looked back at Dean, brows furrowed.

 

“Don’t. I just need you. I need you now. All of you.”

 

Seth felt lightheaded from Dean’s words, his whole body shivering, the implication behind those words dizzying him.

 

“Are you sure?” 

 

Dean nodded assertively. “Couldn’t be more sure.”

 

He couldn’t believe that after all this time, after all they’d gone through, Dean would trust him so much to do this, that he would need him so badly that he’d want Seth like this. Seth uncontrollably fell flat on Dean’s torso, kissing him with all the passion he could muster, his every nerve lit up by sparks. Their tongues languorously met, their kiss lazy and easy and everything they usually weren’t. Keeping their lips interlocked, Seth slowly guided his dick to Dean’s entrance, Dean gasping against his mouth, Seth gripping Dean’s wrists in a vice, breaching the bundle of nerves before settling deep inside him, a sigh from the pit of his core released in the space of their mouths. Dean’s eyes were prickling with tears, Seth laying a tranquil kiss across each lid, leaving him a minute to get settled, getting the green light when he felt Dean’s toes nudge the back of his thighs. Seth started to move, instantly floating into another sphere, in another space, in another time. He drove deeper with every push, burying himself in the heat he’d chased after for so long, in the tightness he’d sought out of every partner he’d been with the last year. This was the real thing, writhing beneath him, moaning his name in the dark, intertwining their fingers together against the bed. This was the real thing, the _real_ thing, but fuck, it didn’t feel real, it didn’t feel real at all. Their faces were whiskers apart, their eyes absorbed by the other’s, Dean’s eyes swimming in lust and longing. Seth knew he wouldn’t last long, but he continued pounding inside Dean, every ram a symbol of everything he didn’t know he’d repressed, every thrust his way of saying _I’m sorry_ , _I missed you_ , _I needed you_ , _don’t leave me in the dark like that again_. 

 

He felt Dean’s nails dig against his fingers when he hit his prostate, his raspy voice filling the room with the most gorgeous of sounds to Seth’s ears. His hole clenched around Seth’s penis, enclosing his lungs in a second, catapulting him to the most incredible of highs he’d experienced. He tried to free his right hand to take care of Dean’s neglected erection only to be met with total resistance, Dean refusing to break the clasp of their fingers, wrapping his legs around Seth’s ass, driving Seth even further inside. 

 

Seth bit his lip and turned his head away, completely overwhelmed. He sealed his eyes shut, not wanting to open them, feeling like he’d lose it all if he did, like he’d be brought down to reality because this, _this_ right here, felt surreal. If he opened his eyes, it’d be too real, and he didn’t know how crushed he’d be if this was all just a dream. He felt a featherlight touch at his temple, an index finger wandering there, down his cheek, brushing over his scruffy beard, joining a thumb at this chin, guiding his head back to azure eyes so soft and so breathtaking. Dean’s hands glided up his back and through his hair, running his fingers through his strands, bringing Seth’s lips down to his, kissing him like this was the last thing he’d ever do. Seth felt his eyes burn with something close to tears as he came, seeing stars behind his lids, his head collapsing next to Dean who followed right after. As slumber drizzled down on him, he felt himself tucked into Dean’s arms, enveloping him in a tight embrace, like Dean never wanted to let him go.  

 

This wasn’t fucking. This wasn’t impersonal. This wasn’t business.

 

This was carving your name into someone’s bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it all the way to the end, I want to thank you so, so much for reading. I don't know if I'll add another chapter to the story just yet. It all depends on the feedback I get and how inspired I am. In any case, I'd appreciate it so much if you left a comment and kudos if you liked this! They make my day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three has happened, folks, and it's the final instalment. I'm actually content with where I'm leaving it and I hope you will be as well. I want to thank you all for the feedback I've gotten for this story. It means the world to me. I sincerely hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I've enjoyed writing it!

Seth ran. Untangled himself from Dean's arms, put on some clothes, and exited his own room. Seth literally ran.

He woke up from the deepest slumber he'd had in months, enveloped by warmth he wasn't accustomed to. The room was illuminated by the dimmest of grey lights, dawn making way to morning, sun rays barely beaming through the silky white curtains. Seth felt so comfortable. It felt like a dream.

He'd even allowed himself to stay like this for a few minutes, braced within strong arms, head resting on a softly heaving chest.

Until panic seized total control of Seth.

This was Dean Ambrose laying underneath him. This was the same man he'd gone to war with less than twelve hours ago. This was the man he'd severed all ties with a year prior. This was Dean fucking Ambrose, the same man who'd moaned his name like a trance, the same man who'd stopped his heart from beating, the same man he'd spent the entire night with enraptured in pleasure. He had slept with the enemy. He had fallen into the trap. He had sunk down the whirlpool and hit the bottom of it. He had lost all control.

Seth trembled, coming to terms with what happened between him and Dean, realizing just how far they'd gone in every possible way. He slowly got up, his breathing skyrocketing, his every limb shaking. He absent-mindedly fished out the first clothes he could find, put them on and noiselessly got out of the room. And then he made a run for it.

He sprinted through abandoned hallways, his feet moving aimlessly, running down several flights of stairs. He came to a stop in front of a fire exit door. He rapidly pushed on its knob and rushed through it, nearly collapsing on the top of the stairway. He leaned his head and shoulder on the wall to his right, his hand spread across his collarbones. His chest hurt. His whole body hurt. His eyes stung, his knuckles coming up to his lips to muffle a scream he so desperately wanted to release.

He couldn't bring himself to stay in the same room as Dean. He couldn't. He couldn't stay there and watch him sleep, couldn't let his arms snuggle him in against his body, couldn't let him kiss him good morning and murmur sweet nothings in his ear. He just couldn't. It was too much.

It was always too much with Dean. It always meant too much, and Seth was never truly able to handle it. A night like the one they'd just spent had gone to show that Dean was more than just a fuckbuddy, more than just a business partner, more than someone Seth used just to get to the top. He meant more, so much more, and that scared the living hell out of Seth. It sent him running for the hills every time. It made Seth wonder if that was the  _real_ reason he broke The Shield up, if his attachment to Dean was the one deciding factor in his decision to destroy it from the ground up, if his desire to ascend to the main event was just the cherry on top.

Nothing was ever supposed to go that way. This night was never supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to have the smell of Dean lingering on his skin. He wasn't supposed to feel this way. Everything had gone to shit.

He tried to go through the process he'd grown used to in the past, the one he put his mind through after nights with Dean. He steadied his breath and closed his eyes, attempting to brainwash himself into thinking that their night was just like any other night he'd spent with random girls in the past year. Dean was just another fuck, just another warm body to stick his dick in. This meant nothing, nothing at all, and when he would walk out of that stairway, everything will be the same, because nothing had changed.

But going through the motions this time around wasn't as easy as Seth hoped it'd be.

Everything had changed. Because he could still taste Dean on his tongue. Because cradling Dean's body with his own felt more right than cradling his championship. Because hearing Dean moan his name made perfect sense. Because everything he'd ever done in his life felt like it was leading up to that moment with Dean. He'd spent the last ten years striving to become WWE Champion — but delving in Dean's tight heat, after all this time apart, was when he felt like he'd truly made it. And Seth didn't know what to do about that. He should've known that repelling months and years of feelings would come back to haunt him.

Seth balled his fists and looked up to the ceiling, like answers would just fall from the sky. He was lost. Everything he thought he knew about himself was up in the air, overridden by a million question marks writing themselves. His priorities were muddled, his desires in shambles. He knew that if he were to follow his instincts, to follow what felt  _right_ , he'd lose everything he'd built for himself. His title reign would slip like water through his fingers and his empire would crumble like it were pillars of sand, all because it'd mean he'd be standing next to Dean. And he knew it couldn't go down that way.

He'd simply worked too hard. He loved that championship. He loved all the power he now held in his hands. He loved the fame and glory that followed him around. He loved it all too much. And he wasn't sure he could leave it behind, wasn't sure he could ever do it. Not even for someone who brought out feelings that very much rivalled the love he had for his career.

There was only one thing Seth could do. He'd have to go on like nothing ever happened. He had take a page out of Dean's own book and do what he'd done when Seth visited him in his hotel room all those weeks ago. He couldn't deal with the bearings that came with sleeping with Dean. Hiding in this emergency exit staircase, for what felt like a lifetime, was his remedy. He could only hope that Dean would get the hint.

It became apparent that Dean  _did_ in fact get it. When Seth made his way back to his room, Dean was gone. There was no sign of him, no sign of any of his belongings. A part of him shattered to pieces.

The weeks that followed were tough on Seth. The roles had been switched. While there was a time Dean refused to so much acknowledge him, Seth was now the one who couldn't glance at him. He could feel the weight of Dean's eyes on him at all times, could feel his gaze follow him when he strode past him, could feel his eyes brighten and widen when he walked into a room he was in. He managed to discretely catch the look in his eyes sometimes, finding curiosity, confusion and longing plaguing the blue in them. It took all of his will to stop himself from looking back, to keep walking ahead, to not give Dean the answers his eyes were so desperately pleading for.

Weeks turned into months and eventually, Dean's forlorn stares went away, coming to an end. He didn't look his way anymore. He stopped getting involved in his business. He never got a phone call from him. And with time, his body no longer reacted to Seth's presence. It was like they'd gone back in time, long before that late night call happened, before they'd made a return in each other's lives. Seth wasn't sure he was okay with that because all the while, he'd been fighting every urge to reach out and beg for Dean's attention. But he knew that this was how things had to be. There was no other way around it. This was the best thing for his career, with no Dean Ambrose in the title picture to throw him for a loop and no Dean Ambrose to sneak in his bed and swoop him off his feet. It had always worked out best for him when they acted like strangers to one another. He had to crush whatever feelings he had with an iron fist once more. He'd fake it till he made it.

Seth buried himself in work more than he'd always done. He accepted those extra assignments, did every interview asked of him, doubled his time spent at the gym, trained until his body begged for mercy, refused any days off. He tired himself out, but it paid off. The wheels spun in the right direction for him. Before Seth knew it, he was cracking John Cena's nose and defeating him for the United States Championship, stealing the show in the process. He'd become the first ever person to simultaneously hold the United States and WWE World Heavyweight Championships. He'd made history yet again. His name would go into the record books. Seth would've been a liar if he said that it didn't feel absolutely fucking amazing. Never had it been clearer in the eyes of the world that he was the undisputed best wrestler the company had to offer. He felt vindicated for all the doubts and qualms that surrounded his name since day one.

Seth was given the following night off, which felt both weird and rewarding. He spent the majority of it in his locker room, dressed to the nines in his black suit, waiting for the reveal of his bronze statue. He'd been giddy about it all day, like a kid on Christmas morning. Stephanie and Hunter wanted to keep it a surprise until the very last minute, so he tried his hardest to keep to himself, just to avoid letting his curiosity get the best of him. He'd been sitting on his bench, idly playing with his phone before the noise of the commentators going berserk in the background caught his intrigue. And it was very justified.

Looking up at the monitor, a giant appeared alongside the Wyatts. He watched as he systematically dismantled Roman Reigns and Dean Ambrose. He was a beast, an absolute mammoth of a man. Seth couldn't help but be fully focused on the scene at hand. Seth was rolling his phone in the palm of his hands, biting his bottom lip without noticing. It was difficult to watch. He beat Roman and Dean to a pulp, choking the hell out of them. His eyes kept drifting to Dean, who had clearly passed out, his body immobilized, the only sign of life his rising chest. Seth's chest tightened up at the sight, semblants of concern chomping at his stomach. He watched it unfold to the last second, up until they cut to commercial break.

Against his better judgement, Seth felt the impulse to go out there, check up on Dean and wait for him to regain consciousness. In that particular moment, he wanted nothing more than to make sure he'd be alright. But he knew he couldn't, couldn't even stand up from his seat. Checking on him would bring along catastrophic consequences, ones that Seth couldn't begin to deal with at all. Besides, he had bigger and better things to look forward to, like being immortalized in bronze later on in the show. This was  _his_ night and it was a cause for celebration, not a cause for worrying about Dean Ambrose.

Dean was a grown man. He could fight his own battles. And Seth could concentrate on his'.

It turned out that Seth did have a battle on his hands. The rest of his night had shaped out to be a complete and utter disaster. Out of nowhere, Sting decided to rain on his parade, taking the place of his statue, making it disappear out of thin air. He chased him out of the ring and dared to put his hands on his beloved WWE Championship, lifting it over his head to a thunderous roar from the crowd. Seth was fuming, as were Stephanie and Hunter who'd gone to great lengths to make this historic occasion happen. The three of them blitzed through the backstage area, finding a camera directed towards them on the spot. In the heat of the moment, Hunter booked Seth in a match against Sting at Night of Champions, his title on the line. The announcement relieved and consoled Seth, who was worked up about the entire ordeal. He was more than ready for this match. Who was Sting to invade  _his_ ring and challenge him like he did? He posed no threat. His golden years were long gone. Seth was more than willing to teach him a lesson and send him running back to the rafters where he belonged. He was beyond excited about the prospect of showing that painted freak up. This was another opportunity for Seth to prove just how untouchable he'd become. You simply did not mess with the champ.

The adrenaline he'd felt gradually wore off. By the time he finished filming a couple of interviews and signing off on the match, Seth had somehow managed to cool down completely. He wandered down the empty hallways, his tuxedo jacket slung over his shoulder, heading towards his locker room to pick up his bags and leave the arena. The only people left were the spare production crew members putting the last bits of equipment back in steel crates. Every other Superstar and Diva was surely on their way to the next town already. The lack of people soothed Seth's nerves as he took his time with each step, each step heavy and unhurried. He looked left and right, studying every little detail around him. He halted his step as he passed by the trainer's room, a familiar figure capturing his eye.

Dean was in there, laying on the black leather bed, a knee slightly bent while the other was outstretched. He was resting a forearm across his face, the other one drooping over the edge of the bed. The room was deserted save for him, no sign of Reigns or any doctor. Dean looked so weak and so fragile. That seemed to be Seth's undoing every time.

Seth didn't know what seized him to stand there in the doorway, watching Dean with abandon. He didn't know what seized him to pass through the threshold to get a closer look, his steps quiet and cautious. He kept a distance between him and the blond. Dean didn't seem to have noticed someone else entering the room, and if he did, he gave no hint of it.

"Are you just gonna stand there and creep on me all night?"

Seth's eyes gaped wide in shock. His cheekbones immediately got warmer, his whole body overtaken by jitters. He got caught red-handed and was losing his mind in nervousness. Dean was the picture of a total contrast. He was as cool as a cucumber, his voice completely neutral, not a limb in his body moving as he spoke up. Seth wasn't even sure he'd heard him correctly.

"Um...uh...I, uh-" Seth cut his babbling short for his own good, unable to properly form words. It was embarrassing. He was embarrassing. Dean was still unfazed. Seth breathed in deep.

"I just wanted to check up on you. I know you got roughed up out there."

Dean shifted his arms, slowly placing them behind his head, still reluctant to open his eyes. "That's nice."

Dean didn't seem to be all that talkative. It did nothing to appease Seth. "Are you- are you okay?"

"Been better. But I've had worse." Dean responded, cracking an eye open right after, peeking at Seth. "You know that first hand."

Seth looked away for a second, softly nodding, a hand nervously scratching his beard. He deserved that small low blow, the memory of driving Dean's skull through cinderblocks replaying in his mind, laughing as he got stretchered out of the building. And that was just  _one_ of many abominable things he'd done to Dean.

"Yeah. I know. I just...I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

Dean opened his second eye and crooked an eyebrow. "Are  _you_ alright?"

Seth furrowed his own brows. The question took him aback. He was positive that Dean wasn't talking about his altercation with Sting, seeing as he was probably barely lucid to understand what was going on. He found himself flustered.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm- I'm fine, totally fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You're actually talking to me."

Seth's heart raced that extra beat, guilt quickly washing over him, a pang of hurt hitting him just the slightest bit. "I didn't- I didn't mean to-"

"Didn't mean to what? Shut me out?" Dean closed his eyes and massaged the top of his forehead with the pads of his right fingers. Seth kept mute. "Don't lie to me, Seth. It does my fucking head in, man."

There was no appropriate rebuttal to Dean's words. Seth couldn't debate them. He knew he'd consciously shut him out. He had no defense to fall back on. He tightened the grip on his jacket, his grip had gotten slightly wobbly. He needed to change the subject right away.

"Where's Reigns?"

Dean took a while to answer, unnerving Seth in the wait. "I told him to leave without me. Told him I needed to be alone. That I had to clear my head for a little bit." Dean explained, his right hand motioning in vague circles by his temple. "He understood."

Seth observed Dean for a minute, taking him in from head to toe.

"Bray really did a number on you, didn't he?" Seth asked, almost thinking out loud.

Dean opened his eyes, peering at Seth. "What, you don't think I look fuckin' great right now?"

In spite of himself, Seth felt his lips pout in a lopsided smile. "You've looked better."

"I bet." Dean reciprocated the subtle smirk, dimples appearing just slightly by his mouth. Seth felt his insides melt on their own accord. They always knew how to be lighthearted when they wanted to be.

Seth narrowed his gaze, enjoying the companionable silence that'd fallen between them, watching as Dean repositioned his forearm across his face. "You'll find a way through it. You and Roman. You'll manage to get past them. You'll think of something."

Dean remained static before carefully lifting himself up, reclining back on his elbows, tilting his head on his left shoulder. "Yeah. Yeah, we will. But not right now, y'know. Maybe later, when I'm not feeling like fuckin' dogshit incarnate."

Seth lowered his head, chuckling under his breath, before looking up again. "Maybe later."

Dean smiled again, his grin brighter than the one before, his dimples fully prominent. It blinded Seth. Their smiles faded as their wordless stare persisted, those palpable sparks they'd always shared growing stronger by the second. It took everything in Seth's power to not step forward, to stand his ground, to not feel Dean's cheekbones against the back of his hand. Seth could almost feel beads of sweat forming down the back of his neck. His knuckles were trembling. It was so hard to just stand there and not lean down to kiss him. So hard. Too hard.

"I should go." Seth could instantly sense something plummet in Dean's eyes. Seth could feel that same drop in his chest, too.

"Watch your back, yeah?"

Dean stayed still before softly nodding his head in understanding. "You know it."

Seth walked to the door and glanced back over his shoulder, Dean's eyes still trained on him. He gathered what he could to chance him a small smile, one that he couldn't say for certain didn't portray the sadness he was feeling. "I'll see ya around."

Seth turned his head to the hallway and nearly ran down to his locker room, his free hand rubbing his neck, unbuttoning his shirt around his chest like the fabric was compressing him. Once there, he wasted no time in packing whatever he'd left out, clothes and title belts alike. The walls of the arena were closing down on him, the familiar feeling of being overwhelmed coming back to him every time he was around Dean. He just had to get out of here as soon as he could. He was painfully aware that he was running away again. But he couldn't fight his cowardice. He never could.

Seth dragged his suitcase by its handle, his jacket dangling through the metal. He made a beeline for the parking lot. He'd been so dazed that it took him a couple of minutes to remember where he'd parked his rental, rushing towards it when he did. He'd just managed to put his luggage in the backseat before categorically being stopped in his tracks.

"Seth!"

Dean was calling his name. Seth's head suddenly pounded, leaning his head against the side of the car before looking in the direction of the nearing voice. Dean was frantically walking towards him, a slight limp in his rampant movement, his black duffel bag sloppily thrown over his leather clad shoulder, his hair disheveled. Seth felt like the entire parking lot was about collapse on him, every second passing like a ticking bomb. When he came in closing distance, Dean dropped his bag and sped the few steps separating them, the look in his icy eyes wilder than Seth had ever seen them.

"Dean-"

It was all Seth could say before Dean grabbed both sides of his face and crashed their lips together, stunning Seth entirely. Seth instinctively kissed back a second later, indulging himself in pure feeling, breaking the kiss when he realized just what they were doing.

"Dean-"

"No."

Dean interrupted him against his lips, kissing him once more, and Seth could feel all the passion and pent up frustration Dean held for him, and it felt so good, so damn good, so damn _right_. Seth pulled him closer by the nape of his neck, parting his lips open in a whine, amazed that this was even real. Dean ravished his mouth and Seth gave it back. He poured months of emotions into the kiss, all the pining and longing he'd felt for Dean, all the anger he'd felt at himself for leaving him that morning, for leaving him  _ever_. Tongues battled and hair was tousled before Dean broke the kiss, pressing their foreheads together, closing his eyes as he talked.

"You left me, Seth. You left me."

"Dean..."

"You left me, Seth. I woke up and I couldn't find you anywhere. I looked for you everywhere. I waited for you. I sat there waiting but I knew you wouldn't come back. It tore me apart, Seth, it fucking tore me to pieces. Why'd you go? Why'd you leave?"

Seth stepped backwards, out of Dean's hold, his back bumping against the car. He turned his shaking head away. He was unable to give Dean the right answer, the truthful answer. He didn't know how to, didn't know where to start.

"What do you want from me, Dean... What do you want..."

"I wanna be with you, that's what I want."

Seth snapped his head right back as Dean floundered his hands in the air incredulously. His heart hammered, his blood boiling in his veins. He'd never heard Dean word those sentiments so bluntly before. He'd never heard them so decisively expressed. Dean's azure eyes were limpid, crystal clear, completely focused on Seth. Seth could only stare back, half mesmerized, half shocked. "But you won't let me be with you."

Dean took a confident step closer. "That night we had? It was amazing. It was perfect, Seth, so fuckin' perfect. This is what we should be. This is what we  _could_  be." He took another step forward. "I've never felt more complete than when you were inside me." Seth's lungs had ceased to function, his breath locked in his throat. Every word coming out of Dean's mouth and every second looking in his eyes was weakening his resolve.

"I'm scared, Dean."

He could see Dean's gaze soften when he uttered those words. There it was. The truth.

"What are you scared of?"

"Of this...of us." Seth exhaled a whoosh of air, trying his damnedest to breathe. "This is so much to handle, Dean. Too much."

"Then we take it one step at a time. We ride it out together, we roll with the punches, one at a time," Dean spoke, full of determination, closing the distance between their bodies. "You don't need them. You've never needed them. We can do this together. We can."

Seth's gaze faltered from the feel of Dean's breath on his neck, his eyes flicking from his irises to his lips. "I wish you'd gotten me from the start. I wish you didn't fight me all the fucking time over what I did. I wish you'd have understood me, Dean."

"Then let me try to understand you. Give me a chance to understand you. You can't keep running all the fucking time. You can't. You gotta stop running. Stop running away from me." Dean cupped his left cheek in his hand, gently stroking it with his thumb, Seth leaning into the warmth of his palm, holding Dean's gaze. "We've been fighting this for far too fuckin' long, Seth. And I'm tired of it. I'm tired of fighting it. So tired."

Seth dropped his head, swaying from side to side. He didn't know if he had it in him to just let go. Even if there was nothing more he'd rather do.

"I don't know, Dean... I don't know."

The softness in Dean's eyes dissipated. His stare sharpened, determination still discernable in those smoldering eyes as he backed himself away. Seth was fixated with trepidation.

"Just say you don't want this, Seth. Say it and I'll be out of your fucking hair for good. I'll never look your way, I'll never approach you, I'll never call you again. Just say the word and you'll never hear from me again. Say the word and you got it."

Seth's mind had gone blank. He couldn't stir, couldn't get his voice out of his throat. Nothing. He couldn't do anything but look at the man in front of him, unable to give him any reaction, favorable or not. The war in his head had gotten the best of him and rendered him to absolutely nothing. He was losing Dean without even trying to.

Dean tucked his lips between his teeth, nodding his head left to right, his eyes not meeting Seth's any longer. He looked to the ground and his hands came up in mock surrender.

"Okay. I got it."

He turned away and crouched over to pick up his fallen bag, unable to look Seth in the eyes anymore, evidently hellbent on making himself scarce. But as Dean attempted to walk past him, Seth's hand immediately shot out, firmly wrapping it around his wrist. Dean didn't try to move. He was rooted in his spot. He still wouldn't look at Seth, too enthralled by where their hands touched. Seth tugged the bag from Dean's grasp and dropped it to the ground, intertwining their fingers instead. When Dean met his gaze, apprehension in his blue eyes, Seth tangled their fingers tighter, feeling his inhibitions evaporate in the night sky.

As they stood there, chest to chest, face to face, hand in hand, it all dawned on Seth. Maybe this was worth it. Maybe being with Dean was worth the pain that would ensue. Maybe kissing him was worth the trials and tribulations they'd have to go through. Maybe waking up next to him was worth going through a war he'd likely lose. Maybe loving him would make his sacrifices worthwhile. Maybe they'd make it through. Maybe they'd survive. Maybe he'd been wrong to resist it all along. He knew he'd never felt this way before.

And he knew he was tired of fighting it, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read this until the end, I want to thank you so, so much for reading. Please leave a comment and kudos if you've enjoyed it! Make a girl happy while you're at it. :)
> 
> Also, I've made a Tumblr account in case you want to follow me, leave me prompts or just talk! http://jerichoholicanonymous.tumblr.com is where I'm at :)


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